


Can't Get Enough

by swallowedsong (bookstvnerdlove)



Category: The Walking Dead (TV), Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 10:35:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3647127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookstvnerdlove/pseuds/swallowedsong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>unspecified timeline smut<br/>they can't get enough of each other<br/>plot? who needs it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Get Enough

She likes the way he growls at her, that low grunt from the back of his throat that somehow grows until he’s saying her name in a way that makes her  _feel_ all the dirty, delicious things he wants to do to her. Like when he’s got his vest on and his pants are low around his hips, just enough for her to grip his ass as he presses her up against the wall. She can feel the heat of his mouth against her neck. 

His arms arms tense, muscles straining as his hands press against the wall, his hips pinning hers, hipbones digging into her skin, hard enough that he hits her just right. She digs her nails into his skin, breaking through until he emits another grunt of surprise and his teeth nip at her skin, marking the curve of her neck. She bites her own lip to keep from crying out as she comes, the quick release and even quicker rustling of movement as he pulls out of her and she slides down the concrete. 

* * *

She likes the heavy weight of him on top of her, the way his hips circle as he fucks her - into the bed, into the ground, into whatever surface she can find for them - the way his hand covers her mouth when she wants to scream and he knows it, by the way her chest heaves and and her breath comes in quick gasps. She likes to use her teeth on him as his fingers trace her lips, taking a finger between them, nipping at the skin, sucking him in to her mouth. 

It makes his hips twitch against her, disrupting the practiced moves that he knows drive her crazy, makes her pull at his hair until he loses all control, her legs curling around his hips, her head thrown back as his fingers trail along her neck to rest at her collarbone, his lips following their path. 

* * *

She likes the way he tastes, on her knees and her lips wrapped around him. She likes the way he growls, “Fuck” as his hands slide around her head, winding her hair around his fingers. She likes the way he pulls until she lifts her eyes and watches his eyes darken as he lets her set the pace, never asking for more or less, but making her watch him watching her. 

It makes her heart race the way he watches, his cock disappearing into her mouth as she sucks and licks and  _savors_ until she releases him and orders him to let go, to fuck her mouth until he comes. 

* * *

She used to hate being taken from behind until him, until the way his hands trace along her spine, his lips traveling after the gentle brush of fingers, open mouthed and hot along her skin. He inches his way down, soothing her until he reaches her ass. He smoothes over her, his fingers opening until his mouth finds her from this angle, licking where she’s already wet and wanting, his fingers curving around her front. 

His fingers find her as he tastes her, fucking into her, the heel of his hand grinding at her clit. Her arms stretched above her head, gripping the slats of the headboard as she tries to press down, down, into his mouth, his hand, chasing the burn that’s building inside her, begging for release. She used to think it was so impersonal, until him. Until she realized that she could close her eyes and just  _feel_ , the way he worships her, the way he twists her stomach into knots and then releases them so beautifully. 

* * *

(She asks him, one night, as he pulls her body close to his, arm thrown over her waist. She asks him if he has a favorite thing. He grunts and if she was facing him, she’d give him a little punch to the shoulder. 

“That’s not a real answer,” she whispers into the darkness. 

The fingers that had been tracing a pattern on her skin still, his palm against her belly. She can feel the way his throat works, swallowing, hesitating before he answers. 

His answer, when it finally comes, is just one word, spoken against her skin. 

“You.”)

 


End file.
